


Reckless Streak

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Exhibitionism, M/M, Public Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 20:53:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7376965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No jobs and no leads leave Sam and Dean a little downtime, and downtime - for a Winchester - can be a dangerous thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reckless Streak

Getting drunk at a Podunk, Nowhere’s Independence Day celebration wasn’t exactly part of the plan. But a lack of jobs and lazy summer heat had them pulling into the dusty fairgrounds. Sam thumbs through the rodeo program, more for something to do than out of any real kind of curiosity. There’s a low ridge rising up above the arena, and Dean guides the Impala to an open spot near the top. It’s a good view,  better when they sprawl out on the warm hood. 

 

Dean digs out the cooler, cold bottles rattling amongst the ice as he digs a couple out. No one gives them a second glance, and Sam realizes they blend in with their Carhartt jackets and worn blue jeans. 

 

“Could pass for locals,” Dean says, his uncanny knack for being on Sam’s train of thought showing itself yet again. “Think you’d wanna settle down in a place like this, Sammy? Church on Sundays, beer on Fridays, and a nine to five?” 

 

“You’d go stir crazy in a week.” Sam grins at his brother’s snort, both of them knocking back another swig of beer.

 

“Yeah. You’re probably right.” 

 

The Saturday slack is slow-paced, bright sunlight dusting pink over their unprotected faces until Sam remembers the sunscreen in the trunk. There’s only token protest from Dean, who Sam knows would rather face the “embarrassment” of slathering on some sunscreen than having a peeling nose or the fountain of freckles that are sure to burst forth.

 

Speakers around the arena blare country music between events, songs they both know (and sort’ve wish they didn’t). Dean still finds it in himself to waggle his eyebrows at Sam when Tim McGraw’s “Real Good Man” comes up. 

 

“Better watch out. Some of these guys are pretty hot,” Sam teases, trying to sound offhand. “The might be a better ride than you.” 

 

A hand darts between his legs then, brushing just over where his soft cock rests just enough to get him to chub up again before pulling away.

 

“Dunno, Sammy. Seems like part of you thinks I’m pretty good. I bet at least one of these guys’d be up for sharing, what do you think? Get you between two of us, split you open wide on our cocks?” 

 

Taking a deep breath to keep from groaning, Sam gives Dean’s arm a light punch. 

 

“You’re a jerk.” 

 

“You started it. Really though. Think about all the repressed homosexuality, Sam. Bet a guy would love to ream your pretty ass, even if he had to share.” 

 

“Jesus, Dean.” A mother with two girls crosses in front of their car just as Dean stops speaking, and Sam tries to hide his now-hard cock from sight. 

 

“Shouldn’t start what you can’t finish, kiddo.” 

 

Evening brings cooler temperatures. Sam subtly shifts closer to Dean, who just nudges his leg over until their knees touch. They can’t afford much more than this and the tease earlier, not knowing how the locals will take it, but the proximity is good enough. It keeps a low hum of arousal running through Sam, even after his cock goes soft, and he finds its kind of nice to just float in it.

 

They watch as a crowd of kids gathers up at the bidding of the announcer, bolting through the churned up arena dirt as they try to snag little ribbons off the tails of young calves. Dean laughs until he’s swiping at his eyes with the dusty hem of his shirt, narrating the escapades of one little boy to Sam up until the kid runs right out of his little cowboy boots. 

 

“Outta beer,” Sam murmurs, cracking open the last set of bottles. A sea of empties has taken up residence along one wheel, where they’ll wait for the brothers to gather them up before they leave. 

 

Dean wanders off when he finishes his beer, disappearing down the hill and out of sight. He comes back a while later to a drowsy Sam with a dusty case in one hand and a couple of burgers from the concession stand in the other. The first beer is lukewarm, not quite satisfying to Sam’s thirsty tongue but he downs it anyway, alternating with bites of burger until both are gone.

 

They drink until the case is half-empty, settled in to a light, lazy drunk as the rodeo wears on past sundown. Dropping down off the car, Sam ambles off into the dark to find a place to piss, rather than fumbling through the families to get to the restrooms. The hill rises up behind where they’re parked and slopes down to a patch of bushes and trees before giving way to more pasture. Boots crunch in the grass behind Sam, and only the familiar beat of Dean’s footsteps keeps his hackles from rising. 

 

They both piss into the bushes, listening carefully for footsteps of other people that don’t come. Dean finishes first, and Sam’s not surprised to feel a warm body press up against his back just as he gets done. 

 

“Hey.” Dean’s breath is warm, sour with beer and hops along Sam’s cheek, but he shivers anyway. 

 

“Hey yourself.”

 

Knowing fingers pull Sam’s from his zipper, dipping into the open vee of his jeans to fondle his cock. Two steps and they’re behind the tree Sam had used, Dean gently working his dick so it thickens in his hand. 

 

“Gonna get caught,” Sam murmurs, twisting his head around just enough to graze their mouths together. 

 

“Not if you’re quiet.” 

 

Warm and lax from sun and beer, Sam goes easy when Dean pushes him up against the tree itself, spreading his legs and bracing himself with his hands. Dean tugs his jeans down just enough to bare his ass, and Sam snorts to himself when he hears the click of a lube cap. 

 

“Slut.” 

 

“You’re the one spreadin’ it, Sammy. Now shut up.” 

 

Biting his lip to quell any sounds, Sam tries to listen over their panted breaths. It’s not easy, not when Dean slides a finger in and rubs it right over Sam’s prostate, and - before Sam knows it - his eyes have drifted shut as he swallows down moans. 

 

“Slut,” Dean breathes mockingly as he lines up and pushes inside, feeling the rumble of Sam’s answering moan. 

 

They grunt and moan into the dark, the slapping sound of skin on skin loud until a chorus of cheers rises up from the stands. It’s fumbling a little, but still good to their buzz-up nerves, the thrill of being basically out in the open adding to pleasure. A cool breeze runs along heated skin, providing a stark reminder of where they’re bare to the world, and Sam shoves his hips back hard against his brother.

 

“Fuck, Sammy. Close.” 

 

Sam drops a hand to fist his cock at the words, trying to catch up to Dean but Dean’s hips stutter all too soon; Sam always needs longer to come when drunk, and Dean always comes like a shot, but it’s never until they’re fucking that Sam remembers. 

 

“Thought you were a good ride,” Sam huffs as Dean pulls out. 

 

“Shut up.” Turning Sam around and ignoring his protests, Dean drops to his knees. He’s a little unsteady, but grips Sam with a sure hand. He laps at the precome-damp tip before taking some of Sam’s cock into his mouth, suckling gently. 

 

Sinking his teeth into the meat of one hand, Sam uses the other to pet through Dean’s sweaty locks as his cock disappears between his brother’s lips. It’s not much to see in the dark, but Dean knows just what Sam likes: a little nail along his balls, a tight grip, and a wet rub just along his frenulum has Sam coming with a low grunt. 

 

Dean spits, lewd and wet, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “I need another beer.” 

 

“Still got some in the cooler.” Sam zips up and helps Dean to his feet. Ignoring the taste of beer and jizz, he tugs Dean close so press their lips together. “You need toothpaste.” 

 

“Fuck you. That taste is all you, Sammy boy. Thought all those greens you eat were supposed to make you taste better.” 

 

“Whatever.” 

 

A rustle sets them off, Dean going for his Colt while Sam reaches for a knife. 

 

“I don’t mean no harm, fellas.” A man steps out of the dark, and Sam can see his hands raised up now that his eyes have adjusted to the dark. “Was just enjoyin’ the show. You’re pretty brave, doin’ that here.” 

 

“A guy’s got needs,” Dean quips, lowering his gun a little. 

 

“Yeah. I hear that.” 

 

Tension hangs between them until Sam tucks away his blade. “Which of us do you want?” 

 

The guy splutters for a moment, almost taking a step back. “Come again?” 

 

Dean side eyes Sam, but puts away his gun, letting Sam have the lead. 

 

“Which do you want? You didn’t stay to watch for no reason, and neither of us are going to be up for another round this fast, but we could still help you out.” 

 

“I’m not - I didn’t mean-” 

 

“Shh, hey.” Dean steps forward then, and the guy stays still long enough for Dean to cross the distance between them. “It ain’t nothing. We don’t want anything you’re not willing to give. You wanna walk away, you’re free to; neither of us are from here anyway. Just strangers passin’ through. But if you want . . . we’re both game. Just say the word.”

 

The buzzer goes off in the arena behind them, closely followed by another round of cheering. It manages to be faint and loud at the same time, shattering the silence around them. 

 

“Yeah. I mean - if you’re sure.” 

 

“Sammy?” 

 

“Yeah, Dean.” 

 

Sam moves up level with his brother and, with little more than a shared glance, drop to their knees in the dirt. Together, they get the cowboy’s belt buckle undone and his tight Levis tugged down. He’s musky, warm and wet with sweat between his legs, and Sam can’t help but nuzzle his face into damp boxers for just a moment. 

 

Tight balls fit nicely in Dean’s hand when they finally get the boxers out of the way. Sam licks at them carefully, and Dean meets him halfway. It almost becomes a contest to see how much of their mouths they can touch around the guy’s cock while still keeping it good for him; spit-slick lips slide past each other, mouths nudge for room to take in balls or suckle at cock all while the other man groans desperately above them. 

 

Feeling brave, Sam skirts a hand around the curve of the cowboy’s ass, letting his fingers dance along the dip. When no objection comes, he pushes two finger tips between firm cheeks. The guy is tight, so Sam just teases his fingers around the rim of his hole, nudging gently and stroking the furled skin. 

 

“F-fuck, guys.” 

 

“He’s so tight, Dean,” Sam pulls away to murmur. 

 

“Pretty boy. You ever take a cock?” 

 

There’s a whimper and a  whispered negative that causes both Winchesters to groan. Another time, another place, Sam knows they’d be taking him back to their room, refractory time be damned. Instead, he opts for fishing the lube out of Dean’s pocket. A single finger slides part of the way in, and Sam relishes in the soft moan that penetration drags from the cowboy’s mouth. 

 

“Gotta be quiet,” Dean whispers. 

 

Nudging his finger just a little deeper, Sam feels for the cowboy’s prostate. Dean’s suckling at the guy’s tip and rolling his balls in the palm of his hand, so Sam dips his head in as close as he can get to lick and nip at the base of the cowboy’s dick. There’s a jerk when Sam finally brushes the guy’s prostate, and he rubs at it steadily. 

 

The cowboy stills and shakes as he comes, spilling into Dean’s waiting mouth. He chokes on a broken sound, hands fisting in the brothers’ hair, but neither of them complain. Sam tucks him away and helps him straighten his clothes as Dean spits and cleans himself up. 

 

“Better get back before someone misses you.” The guy nods a little numbly at Dean’s words, thanking them quietly as he stumbles off. 

 

Sam trails Dean back up the hill, just in time for the last bronc rider to go flying into the dirt. There’s a cheap motel with their name on it down the road, and Sam wonders if it’d be worth staying for the Sunday program or not. 


End file.
